Two days after the initial jet lag and I may be almost human enough to write complete sentences. Stumbling around on Day Two with the brain capacity of a cabbage, I waited patiently for the shuttle to take me to my home for the next four months. Entering the situation with the lowest expectations I could manage - of dungeon rooms spawned from the middle ages and beds intended for elves - the moment I stepped into my apartment was possibly one of the most thrilling moments of my life.
But of course, this only occurred after my always savvy self made a few less than savvy decisions. Muddled in confusion, bags surrounding my feet in the hotel lobby at noon thirty, I somehow managed to wander outside. To be completely honest, I don’t really blame myself. Six days after New Years I was sporting a tank and flip-flops and standing in the mountains of one the most beautiful countries I have ever witnessed, surrounded by architecture older than the United States’ lifespan. So of course I had to get outside of the hotel.
Unfortunately, as I wandered outside, trying desperately to focus and think straight with my foggy brain in tow, I did not completely realize to the degree living in a foreign country would require me to speak a foreign language and that assumptions are probably best to be gotten rid of. So standing outside with my suitcase and backpack, I turned to the van driver and asked whether I should get on the shuttle to which he shrugged, grabbed my bags and I hopped on board. Thirty seconds later, after surveying my situation it became quite clear that my roommates were nowhere to be found, that this man spoke no English, and that this was absolutely not where I should be. Slow panic settled in as I realized everyone on the van was headed in quite a different direction. More panic followed when I managed to form one of the possibly three sentences I know: “Dove Via Graziosa?” (where my new apartment was) to which he managed - with highly detailed hand gestures may I add - to respond that he’d never even heard of a Via Graziosa. Excellent.
Off the van we all go, me standing awkwardly to the side and narrowly avoiding some serious dog diarrhea when I remembered the cell phone I had purchased nearly blacked-out on sleep deprivation the day before. Using the one phone number I’d managed to plug in, I called my temporary roomie who picked it up, passed it over to our guide and I was saved.
Fast-forward past the part where I go down all the narrow cobble stone streets with my wheely luggage to the part where I walk into one of the most pimpin’ apartments I’ve ever seen:
Reeking of fresh paint and a glossy marble staircase leading the way, I walked into an enormous kitchen filled with completely new appliances and color-coordinated pastel everything. Not only is the apartment completely operated by a key card system that opens all of the doors and controls the electricity in main rooms with motion sensors in the hallways and bathrooms, but I have my own fully furnished room with fleece blankets. Let’s take a moment there to freak out about this a teensy bit. For the girl that was switched into a new apartment two days before she was sent off in an airplane, I was seriously hooked up.
That night, after a little grocery shopping, we had a roommate dinner of pasta, pineapple and spinach, clinking glasses of red Italian wine in sincere appreciation of all that we already had and for everything that is in store for us.
This is seriously going to be an incredible semester.
No comments:
Post a Comment